withershins
by wakarebanashi
Summary: time cannot erase the ghost of his presence


a/n: some of you may have seen this up before. i took it down then because i didn't actually know how to edit a document xp but that was over two years ago, i believe, so here it is again.

hope you enjoy!

word count: 915

* * *

withershins;

counterclockwise

.

time can not erase the ghost of his presence

.

 _ **eleven**_

There is nothing left but the beat of his heart and the dry stains on his hands. He shakes, trembles, jerks violently, back and forth, back and forth, until Madara's name is not the only thing left whole in his mind.

Oh no. He thinks of Konoha, too. He thinks of the Uchiha's and war and everything there was that no longer existed and he prays before he closes his eyes for the last time that heaven will be generous to him.

.

.

 _ **ten**_

He does it for peace.

He does it for closure.

He does it for everything wrong with the world and everything he can't right.

He does it for Madara, but mostly for himself.

The kunai lodges deep into Madara's abdomen, blood spewing everywhere. On Hashirama's cheek, on his clothes, on his hand, on his mouth. Madara tries to speak but blood absorbs his words.

"I'm sorry," is all Hashirama can say.

A thousand _sorry_ 's until there is no longer a heartbeat.

And a thousand more for safekeeping.

.

.

 _ **nine**_

He had hoped and prayed with his entire soul a time like this wouldn't come.

But standing on the battlefield, across from the only consistency in his life, eye contact shaky and wavering and hesitant, he knows there's no more running from the inevitable. Madara notices it too, because he is the first to strike.

.

.

 _ **eight**_

Madara's soul is a strong one. It corresponds beautifully with Hashirama's. They are two in one; Madara is the moon in a bright blue sky and Hashirama is the sun in a world far, far away. There is no greater truth than two pieces merged into one.

So, he says, "if forever existed, would you spend it with me?"

And Madara, that smirking bastard as always, laughs and says back, "if forever existed, I probably wouldn't be here."

But he kisses Hashirama's temple anyway and the gesture alone is enough to satisfy Hashirama's question.

.

.

 _ **seven**_

He interlaces his fingers with Madara's.

They are big, hard, calloused by years of years of ninja training, and probably the coldest he's ever felt them.

But he doesn't let go.

Madara has never been a loud crier; he's more of a man who does not like to show the different sides of him. And Hashirama nearly pities this man because his broad shoulders are trembling and the hand Hashirama doesn't hold is covering his mouth and his eyes are squeezed shut with tears pooling and running down his cheeks and in the midst of despair, all Hashirama can do is hold his hand.

That's all he's ever been able to do.

.

.

 _ **six**_

At night, he is a sinful lover.

He is made of ghostly fingers that trail the canvas of Hashirama's skin and devil-like kisses that tease with each second they aren't clasped over his and not enough _I love you_ 's to secure a bases around the form of their existence.

But by morning, he is of another clan. The enemy clan. And they are ruthless when they collide.

.

.

 _ **five**_

He leaves many, many times throughout the time span of five years and Hashirama learns to keep his door unlocked and ears perked.

.

.

 _ **four**_

"Sometimes," Hashirama starts, voice delicate with tender soothe, "we can't follow the rulebook, you know. We may be Uchiha and Senju but that doesn't mean we can't love."

Madara chuckles, his baritone voice like soothing tendrils on Hashirama's skin.

"That's true. But it's because we're Uchiha and Senju that we will always be at war."

"Don't you wish for peace?"

"Of course I do, idiot."

"Then I think a wish is more justice than a wish not made."

"... go to sleep, idiot."

.

.

 _ **three**_

They are young and calm.

They are at war, too.

Hashirama and Madara are spies of the night, their mission to snoop out the other until they have enough information to fatally wound –

– but they are also lovers at well.

.

.

 _ **two**_

Hashirama hangs his head on Madara's shoulder, thin arms wrapping around the other in a tight embrace and he buries his face into the black hair.

"They said you are the enemy," he breathes. He feels Madara's breath hitch and form grow stiff but he only manages to produce a laugh.

"They said to kill you on sight but I'm not such a monster. I've never been. So let's keep pretending, alright?"

Madara almost asks what is so pretend about them, why this guy is going easy on him, why he won't kill him when cold lips press hard against his. They stay like that for a while, both too afraid to move, until they break apart for need of oxygen.

"Let's keep pretending we hate each other," Hashirama smiles breathlessly, and it's painstakingly beautiful. "And if we pretend, they may never know we're in love, alright?"

Madara stares at the boy, eyes wide with ungoverned surprise, when the words click into place. He nods slowly, smiling.

"Alright."

.

.

 _ **one**_

Madara does not know what to think of this strange boy.

But he thinks him beautiful the moment he speaks.

.

.

 _ **zero**_

"The name's Hashirama. And you are?"

The boy looks at the stranger long and hard before answering:

"... Madara."

Hashirama laughs, pats his back, and smiles.

"Well then nice to meet you too, Madara."

.

.

 **owari**


End file.
